DIARY
Returning miles of space,
can you find the precise hour,
travel through that day,
locate the very moment
ago, there?
The mind goes back and forth,
stops at what time stations,
Monday morning, January 7th,
winter, and ten years
after then.
The trunk arrives, departs:
hotel, depot, airport, pier,
with sticker seals to mark the sights
and tag the route,
remember where?
With tickets, menus, souvenirs,
a life's receipts in black and white
to trace the course of wind and tide,
the way back home
from why and when.
And buses, taxis, subways, cars,
for how-long, how-far conversations,
so much, so many, who and what,
with love, regards and yes, again,
name, place, date, pen.